Malfunction
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Where Aziraphale learns never to trust anything installed inside a demon-owned car. Aziraphale x Crowley


"Tell me how this works again?" Aziraphale asks, peering at Crowley's latest splurge – a new, state-of-the-art stereo for his Bentley - as if it were an exotic insect preserved in alcohol.

With both curiosity and disdain.

The idea of getting such an expensive, modern device for a vintage vehicle strikes Aziraphale as both ludicrous and artistic; a thought provoking installation that shines a light on man's constant struggle between upholding the robust beauty of the past while glorifying the frivolity of present, melding two separate eras that stand in definitive contrast of one another – one an era where money was scarce and luxury items were built to last as juxtaposed the current time where luxury items are built with the knowledge that, in anywhere from a year to a few months, they will be obsolete.

All of this made more ridiculous by the fact that the stereo isn't actually attached to the vehicle. It sits firmly in a slot Crowley created and runs on demonic willpower, like everything else in his car.

Which, in retrospect, makes it a perfect fixture in Soho, parked outside Aziraphale's run-down old bookshop.

"It's voice activated, angel," Crowley explains for the fifth time while pulling up in front of his flat. "You say _Jukebox_ to turn it on, tell it what song you want to hear, and provided that song is in its memory, it plays it for you."

"And why is that necessary? It's just as easy to press a button, isn't it? Besides, your car only plays _one_ album."

"It's not _necessary_." Crowley smirks. "But it's _new_. And it's _fun_. Besides, now I won't have to take my hands off the wheel if I want to switch songs."

"No, but you'll still take your hands of the wheel to use your phone, grab your glasses out the glove box, _drink_ …"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, well, 10% more safe is better than zero percent, right?"

Aziraphale blinks at him. "This is the most asinine conversation I think we've ever had."

"Way to lower the bar there. Besides, I know for a fact we've had _way_ more asinine conversations than this one. Now sit tight. I'm gonna pop in for a second, grab a few things, then we'll be off. Meanwhile, I'll leave the two of you to get acquainted." Crowley climbs out of his car and closes the door behind him. "Have fun."

"Oh yes," Aziraphale mutters. "Loads, I'm sure." He examines the stereo closely. He may not have a clue as to how the thing is supposed to work, but it has a plethora of interesting buttons. He gives one a try, and news radio fills the air. He smiles. "Well, well, well. Intellectual conversation. _That's_ something we've never heard in here before. Let's try another." He presses a button marked media. It switches to a library of music installed in the stereo's memory. "Goodness, that's a lot of songs," he remarks, scrolling through the list with his finger. He scrolls and scrolls, but the list keeps going, displaying a multitude of new songs that Aziraphale doesn't recognize. He barely gets through titles starting with the letter _D_ when he decides to scroll back to the beginning and go through the songs one by one. Who knows how long Crowley will actually be? He might as well occupy himself.

On the way back to the top, one song title catches his eye.

"_Blow Me One Last Kiss_." He smiles. _'That sounds nice, doesn't it?'_ he thinks. _'Sounds like the title of a big band standard.'_ He reaches out a hand to select it and give it a listen, but has second thoughts and drops his hand back to his lap.

Crowley said his stereo was voice activated. Aziraphale thinks that's excessive. He could just press it. The song selection is right there, lit on the display in front of him, a foot from his fingers. But like his computer, his calculator, his cash register, and his coffee maker, he does like the idea of technology that lets him ask it to do things for him and it obeys.

It seems so polite for a stereo in a demon-owned car.

Why not give it a shot?

He clears his throat and says, "Jukebox." The stereo beeps. Then it says in a pleasant, female-sounding voice, "Jukebox activated."

"Ah, okay!" Aziraphale says excitedly. "Play _Blow Me One Last Kiss_ … uh, please."

On the digital screen, a round circular icon spins, searching for his selection. Of course, the icon is actually spinning right on top of said selection, and Aziraphale thinks, _'Why can't it just look behind it and see it there? Seems kind of daft for such a high-tech gadget.'_

After a few more seconds of spinning, the screen goes back to the original stereo menu and the female voice says, "Command not recognized. Please try again."

Aziraphale jerks back, stunned that it didn't work. Crowley made it sound so simple. "O-kay. Juke-box," Aziraphale tries again, speaking slowly and more clearly this time, "play _Blow Me One Last Kiss_." He omits the please against his better nature since that seemed to muddy up the waters last time.

The spinning icon returns, sticking around a hair longer, and Aziraphale is certain it's got it now. But the icon disappears, the menu returns, and the voice says, "Title not recognized. Try less words or make another selection."

_'Less words.'_ Aziraphale sighs. _'Why would the whole title be listed if I have to use less words? All right, cheeky stereo, let's go with that …'_

"Jukebox, play _Blow Me One Last_." He frowns at how awkward that sounds, biting his tongue not to add the word _Kiss_ to make it complete.

The circle icon spins on the screen. This time around, it blinks on and off, and Aziraphale smiles triumphantly. _'There we go!'_

But after the last blink, it returns to the menu.

"Title not recognized. Try less words or make another selection."

"Jukebox …" Aziraphale says, getting slightly irritated, "Play _Blow Me One_." And as frustrated as he is, he can't help snickering right after because that just sounds dirty.

Aziraphale knows what the stereo will say after that laugh. He only has himself to blame for that one.

"Title not recognized. Try less words or make another selection."

"Fine." _'You want less words, I'll give you less words. But after this, I'll just press the damned button myself!'_ "Jukebox," Aziraphale says, slowly, commandingly, and a little testily. "_Blow Me_."

"Uh …"

Aziraphale sighs. He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes.

_Ah, Crowley. Perfect timing, as always._

One might even say occult.

Because there's Crowley, standing outside the driver's door with his hand on the handle, staring through the open window at the done and defeated angel.

Meanwhile, the stereo announces, "Playing Jukebox, _Blow Me One Last Kiss_," as if it had been cooperating with Aziraphale all along.

More like it had been waiting for just this moment to make a fool out of him.

To add insult to injury, it's _not_ a big band standard.

"So," Aziraphale says in the tense silence that stretches between angel and demon after the song starts, "did you get what you needed?"

"Yup." Crowley snickers. "Did you?"

"What exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Do you need me to give you a few more minutes alone with the car, or …?"

"Oh for Heaven's sake!" Aziraphale turns off the stereo mid-song and starts rummaging through Crowley's collection of cassettes, looking for one he even vaguely recognizes.

"What are you doing? I thought you got the stereo to work _… after a little forceful persuasion_."

"I'm using the _old_ radio," Aziraphale says. "As far as I'm concerned, your new one's on time out."


End file.
